hours tops.”
It took three hours to cover the island. Contrary to our initial impression, it wasn’t completely surrounded by sandy beaches. On the far side facing out to sea, the shoreline mostly consisted of sheer precipices. To make matters worse, the wind picked up on our way round and it was starting to rain.
“I can’t take any more pictures in this,” announced Hatayama as he packed his camera back into its waterproof case.
We returned to the beach soon after midday, the appointed time. Just as we’d feared, there was no sign either of the fisherman or of his boat. The waves were even higher now. On the far shore, the white surf crashing on the rocks seemed to reach up into the ashen grey sky. Judging by the foul weather and the fisherman’s tone of voice earlier, there seemed little chance he would come. No, there was no way he would come. He must have heard the weather forecast, saying the typhoon would be severe. When things are going bad, they’re just bound to get worse. Or so we decided, as we weighed up our situation with pitiful faces.
“We’ll catch cold here,” I said, looking up at the terraced fields. “He said there was a hut up there, didn’t he. Let’s go and find it.”
“I’ve already caught a cold, mate,” said Hatayama. He let out an enormous sneeze, hurling nasal matter onto the ground as he did so.
We climbed for a while through fields planted with beans. Then, in the middle of the island’s mountainous terrain, we came across a long, thin strip of land that had been levelled over a length of several hundred yards. What was it for? At one end of it stood a tiny shack. Approaching the shack like bedraggled rats, we prised open the door, which was fashioned from logs tied together vertically. Then in we rushed.
There, on a raised platform at the back, we saw two farmers sitting face to face and drinking. One of them, a man in his forties, had horribly sticky eyes. The other was about thirty. The end of his nose was red – probably from an excess of alcohol.
“Sorry to intrude,” I said by way of apology. “Does this hut belong to you?”
“Ha! It don’t belong to no one,” answered the man with sticky eyes. “It’s for us folk from Shiokawa who farm the fields on the island. We use it to sleep in, or shelter from the rain.” He looked us up and down. “Have you got yourselves wet? Well, there’s some firewood over there. Why not light a fire and dry yourselves out.”
“Where are you from?” asked the red-nosed man as we made up a fire.
Hatayama and I took turns to tell our tale – that we were a writer and a photographer from an unfashionable monthly magazine for men, that we’d come to the island for a story but had orders to return to our office the next day, that we’d been held up by the typhoon and didn’t know what to do, and so on and so forth. Meanwhile, we dried our sodden clothes by the fire.
“It looks as if another typhoon’s coming soon. How will you get back to Shiokawa?” I asked. “There’s not much chance of a boat coming out for you.”
“Ah. You came in Jimbei’s boat too, did you?” said the sticky-eyed man. “That’s how we usually get across. But sometimes, when the sea’s rough like today, the boat don’t come and we can’t get back. We came over yesterday afternoon, once the typhoon had died down. We’re picking beans, see, and stayed the night here. We saw you coming over, when we was in the fields. We’ve only just finished working, in fact.” With his chin, he indicated four big baskets full of beans in a corner of the earthen floor. “And while we wait, we have a drop of this liquor we brought over with us.”
So he wouldn’t answer my question. That irritated me. “But surely, you don’t mean to wait until the typhoon’s passed over, do you? Who knows when that’ll be?”
“True. Jimbei won’t bring his boat out if there’s any height to the waves, for safety’s sake,” mumbled Sticky Eye.
“Are there any other boats?” Hatayama asked expectantly.
Sticky Eye lifted his face and looked at us both in turn. “Do you really want to get back so soon? Are you really in that much trouble?”
“Yes. Of course!” I replied firmly.
Red Nose pulled a face as if to stop him. But he didn’t notice and just carried on. “Well, there
“Aeroplane?!” In his surprise, Hatayama projected a missile of nasal matter onto the earthen floor. “An aeroplane from here to the mainland?”
Sticky Eye gazed at Hatayama’s nasal missile with intense interest. “Sheesh!” he cried. “What a trick! This one can blow his nose without using his hands.” He turned to Hatayama and laughed. “How do you do that?”
“I don’t remember seeing anything about an aeroplane on the timetable,” I said. “What airline is it?”
“The company’s called Air Shiokawa,” answered Red Nose, looking over at me. “They’re not on the timetable because they don’t do regular flights. They only fly when the weather’s bad and boats can’t get across, or when people are stuck on the island and want to get back to Shiokawa.”
“What? You mean there’s a flight just from here to Shiokawa?” exclaimed Hatayama. He bowed his head low. “Thank you very much! When and where will it arrive?”
Red Nose looked at his watch. “Well, if it’s coming at all, it’ll be any time now. You must have seen the runway outside. That’s where it lands.”
“Yes, but we can’t be sure it’ll come today,” said Sticky Eye. He shook his head with a smile, as if to tease us. “I hear Gorohachi was bitten by a viper yesterday.”
“Is Gorohachi the pilot, then?” I asked, overcome by a sense of foreboding. “Doesn’t he have a co-pilot?”
Red Nose and Sticky Eye looked at each other.
“Well, I suppose that would be Yone.”
“No, she can’t be the co-pilot. You only ever see Goro flying the plane.”
“How much does it cost?” asked Hatayama guardedly. He was nothing if not stingy.
“Well, now,” answered Sticky Eye, thinking hard. “Us folk from Shiokawa have season tickets, so it’s cheaper for us. But when tourists absolutely insist on flying, I think they charge about three thousand yen for the round trip, yes.”
“Fifteen hundred yen each way? That’s a bit steep.” Hatayama wasn’t happy. “It must only take about ten minutes from here to Shiokawa.”
I poked him in the ribs and intervened quickly. “No, no. If we can get across for fifteen hundred yen it’ll be well worth it. But anyway, are you saying this Air Shiokawa only has one aeroplane, and that people who aren’t from Shiokawa and don’t have season tickets aren’t allowed to use it, unless they really insist?”
Sticky Eye was again unforthcoming. “Well. Yes. I suppose so.”
In my anxiety, I inadvertently raised my voice. “And does this airline company have a proper business licence?”
Red Nose gave me a sharp look. “Oy. If you want to get back to your office quickly, you’d best not ask that sort of question. And don’t go blabbing to others about it. You say you’re a writer, and I didn’t want you to know about the plane, because you might write about it. I only told you because you said you was desperate.”
“I won’t tell anyone,” I proclaimed loudly, crumbling under the terrifying glare of Red Nose. “I won’t tell anyone, and I won’t write about it in the magazine.” There was no doubt – the aeroplane was privately owned, and operated without a licence.
“Anyway, don’t worry,” Sticky Eye called over to me with a smile. “Gorohachi’s a fine pilot, and he’s got a proper licence.”
Could anyone fly without a licence?
“All right, shall we take the plane back then?” Hatayama whispered to me with some apprehension.
“Of course we will!” I answered. “We’re the ones in a hurry. Something that convenient, we’d be daft not to take it.”
I was a bit worried about what sort of plane it would be. But the Chief’s temper was more worrying at the moment. I was in no position to be fussy.
“But he was bitten by a viper, was he not,” Sticky Eye continued.
“What? I heard he was treated at Shiokawa General. He’ll be all right,” said Red Nose. “They’ve got blood there, too.”
Now that our clothes were dry, Hatayama and I ate one of the lunch packs we’d brought. Still the plane didn’t
